Silence Calling
by Lilac Owl
Summary: Bulma was pretty sure Vegeta didn't have feelings. Definitely not. Surely. Just because Bunny was usually right about people didn't make her right about the Saiyan. Right? This required research.
1. Silence Calling

**Silence Calling**

Bunny blithered on in the background as Bulma ignored her mother and set the tray of tea and cookies on the glass table that had been taken outside for the first warm spring afternoon. Her eyes were trained on something in the near distance as Bunny commented on the latest issue of a magazine, and Bulma _hmm_ed in a noncommittal reply, tucking her hair behind her ear.

There he was, minding his own business, reclining against a tree and flipping through some rather large papers that she assumed must be blueprints. Vegeta had taken her aback when he'd expressed interest in reviewing the plans for the next space capsule they were building – and the Saiyan had never seemed interested in anything that didn't resemble food or a gravity machine. The idea that he had gone to her father for the plans rubbed her the wrong way though, and then she found herself irritated that she was annoyed in the first place. Vicious circle.

"Do you think all Saiyans are born that bulky?" Bunny interrupted in a gentle tone, but her blue-haired daughter jerked in surprise anyway.

"Er - " Bulma stammered, disconcerted at both her mother's sudden proximity and her obvious peeping, "Maybe? Goku always was..."

A wrinkle formed between Bunny's brows as she grasped Bulma's shoulders and peered over at their houseguest. "He's rather distinguished isn't he? Even when he's relaxed," Bunny murmured conspiratorially. "I don't remember little Goku ever acting very much like Mr. Vegeta."

Bulma's mouth twitched up. "They're like two different species, Momma," she agreed, leaning her head slightly against the blonde's. "Goku is practically an over-grown human, whereas Vegeta… He's definitely an alien."

Turning her grasp into a hug, Bunny held her daughter as they stood uncharacteristically close. "Do you think he's happy, honey?" Bunny asked softly in her ear. Bulma shrugged in answer, and her mother let out a long breath. "Well, I suppose only time heals things."

The young scientist swiveled her head in mild astonishment. "That's what you think about him? That he's in need of healing?"

It was Bunny's turn to shrug as she released Bulma and made her way to her chair, lifting her teacup with delicate fingers as she sat. "Oh it's not like that's big news." A cheshire cat smile curled its way onto her painted lips and she peered under her eyelashes at her daughter. "Or are you telling me that hasn't crossed your mind?"

Joining her mother at the table, Bulma bit back the impulse to roll her eyes. There was nothing Bunny loved more than knowing something her genius daughter didn't. "Goku told me some of the things Vegeta confessed up on Namek. I know he's had it rough." She broke off with a glance towards the tree. They had both kept their voices low, understanding that his Saiyan ears might pick up their carried tones. "I mean, I think he practically grew up with Frieza."

"I think 'rough' might be putting it rather mildly, based on what you've told me about that monster," Bunny countered. "Plus, Mr. Vegeta is like a lost puppy, always lashing out. Waiting for the next hit to fall on his back." She paused and tapped a fingernail against the china. "Not that you seem to have noticed."

"What?" Bulma protested rather loudly, and then checked herself, teeth grinding together. "What do you mean? I follow that jerk and his pile of broken bots all over the damn grounds and never hear ONE thank you! I think I have been _very _patient with him and I think you're dreaming if you consider one of the greatest annihilators of planets to be a little _puppy_, Momma."

Bunny sniffed, examining a cookie. "You and your father have all the technological brains in the world but have no sense when it comes to your people skills."

"I'll have you know people _adore_ me!" Bulma yipped indignantly, mirroring her teenage self for a moment.

Dropping the cookie, Bunny looked back at her daughter with a soft smile and covered her hand with her own. "Of course they do," she soothed, "What's not to love? I just mean that you two don't consider other people as... as leniently as you could."

Bulma snorted, barely mollified. "Why would I need to do that guy any favors? He'd burn this place to the ground tomorrow if it would please His Majesty."

"And who, might I ask, has taught him his manners?" Bunny chided, her voice taking the quizzing tone of a teacher.

Bulma glowered. "...Frieza, I guess," she finally muttered.

"That's right. And who has taught him how to play well with others?"

"...Frieza."

"And who has taught Ms. Bulma Briefs how to treat others kindly?"

"You have, Momma, and I get it - "

Bunny cut her off. "And who is a guest in this house and has never even lived on this planet before and doesn't know our culture or our ways of life?" she pressed, catching her daughter's hand in her own and squeezing with reassurance.

Something in Bulma's chest released and she sighed, knowing when to back down from a battle. "I get it," she repeated, clutching her mother's hand back.

"Do you?" Bunny asked with a tilt of her head. "I swear, you can memorize an encyclopedia but the things I tell you seem to slip right out between those precious ears of yours!"

A wavering smile passed over Bulma's lips. "Yes, Momma. I do. Vegeta doesn't know how to be nice to people because no one taught him how and he's an insufferable jerk because of it. So I should give him a break."

"Ah… no," Bunny replied with a frown, withdrawing her hand to take a sip of tea. "I don't mean you should give him a break. I mean you should _help_ him."

Bulma blinked in surprise. "Help him what? I've already been assigned to fix all of his stupid training tech – what else do you want from me?"

"Help him settle in, honey! Show him what it means to be a part of our home and world!" Bunny gushed fervently, spreading her arms to indicate what Bulma assumed must be the entire human race and its planet. Her voice stayed hushed in its excitement, and she eyed the Saiyan across the yard, making sure he wasn't paying them attention. "He's never going to heal if he stays all alone like that."

Bulma glanced over at the man too as he flipped over the blueprints with a one-track mind. "He likes being alone. He can't get enough of it."

"Unlikely," Bunny chided with a dismissive wave of her hand. "That's what he wants us to think. Why, I bet he's fairly confused on how to act around us!"

"He has _literally_ slammed a door on my face before," Bulma protested, straightening in her chair. "He almost broke my nose!"

"All little boys want to pull little girls' pigtails, Bulma."

Her daughter lifted a finger to point at the Saiyan. "Do you see that man? That is a world – no – _universe_ class killer, Momma. That is no 'boy.'"

Bunny studied her daughter over the top of her teacup before she set it down. "And every man is just a little boy in a larger package. They don't change much."

With a groan, Bulma grabbed a cookie and unceremoniously bit into it. "You just don't get who he is."

"_No,_" Bunny admonished, "You just don't get what he's doing. Now listen to me. You know I will never match you for wits any day, but you can't match me for common sense on a good day either." She continued over an irritated growl from her daughter. "Don't argue. It's true. Only one of us dated a desert bandit on a whim or thought it would be a good idea to go sail around planets when monsters were waiting to eat her up. And only one of us has been sweet to that poor boy over there."

The younger woman glowered up at her mother as she swallowed her bite.

That Cheshire smile crept back over Bunny's red lips. "That's better. Now I _insist_ that you try to be a little more understanding with Mr. Vegeta from now on. I think it will be good practice for you, honey. You've got to get married one of these days and patience is a virtue!"

Bulma didn't trust herself to respond and instead crossed her arms, looking away to the man under the tree. Her irritation burned her cheeks, but some part of her reasoned that her mother was _generally_ correct about people. She was _probably_ correct about Vegeta. She _might _be correct about herself. _Maybe._

Bunny studied her daughter for a moment before she continued: "Just think what it must be like for him. I don't even know how he learned our language or learned how to read, but he's a Prince of a whole other world who has been – I suppose – stranded of sorts on a strange planet." She waited until Bulma's softened gaze returned her way. "What does he even do in his spare time, Bulma? I sure don't know. He must be unbelievably lonely. After all this time I've still never seen him with any new friends – and certainly not yours," she finished, the gentle admonishment clear.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Bulma shifted in her seat. She wasn't the type to sit around and consider other people' feelings too often. It was much easier to breeze through life bowling people over and making things happen. But Bunny's words caused guilt to bubble up into her stomach. How many times had she seen Vegeta stalk off when she invited her friends over for dinner? Her eyes slid over to her mother, who was staring owlishly back at her. "It's... it's not my fault he's so damn unsociable," she said, twisting her napkin in her lap.

"Of course not," Bunny replied, "There's no reason he should feel comfortable joining you."

Bulma managed to feel worse now. The memory of her invitation for him to stay with them flashed back in her mind. She had been so open and cheery, telling him to lighten up, commenting on his attractiveness, setting him off-balance – and then she had teased him later with that pink shirt. A blush creeped up her cheeks. She supposed... perhaps he didn't have much of a good reason to feel at ease around her. Silence filled the space between mother and daughter as she contemplated her actions over the past months.

Bunny, however, was undaunted. "Do you understand what I'm saying now?" she chirped, her characteristic bimbo mask sliding back over her face.

Bulma nodded weakly. "I guess I have some making up to do."

"You could have some making out to do if you do it right!" Bunny giggled, and Bulma blanched in horror.

"Keep your voice down!" she hissed, not bothering to object to her mother's fantasy.

"I'm just saying – maybe he needs a little _sexual_ healing too!"

"Oh, God, _Momma_ \- "

Bunny and Bulma froze, the daughter's hand slapped over the mother's mouth as a certain someone abruptly stood up from his tree and looked their way in consternation. A moment of silence passed as the three people looked from one another until a snort erupted from Bulma's mouth. Then the dam broke and the two women howled with laughter at one another, tears streaming down their cheeks.

Not sure what the fuss was about, but _very_ sure he didn't want to know, Vegeta turned away with a snap of his teeth and retreated.

A/N: This'll be a short and sweet one that's been floating around in my head. Look out for an update soon for Something in the Water!


	2. Death Traps

**Death Traps**

"He's like a troll," she whispered aloud to herself, sliding her tongue over her teeth as she adjusted the knob on her binoculars. "A stupid, little, unruly, machiavellian, blustery troll..."

"Ah, honey," Dr. Briefs murmured nervously, mustache twitching as his eyes bounced from one Capsule Corp employee to another, "Do you think there might be a more appropriate use of your time and... money?"

Bulma waved her hand in agitation, eyes squelched against the lenses. "I'm not dying anytime soon and - money? Please."

"But, Bulma..." Dr. Briefs peered around at the clearly uncomfortable group of scientists holding their clipboards to their chests and shifting beneath their long white coats, "You have some of our best people here... with you... hiding behind the shrubberies."

Someone coughed. Bulma didn't seem to notice. "Is there something wrong with our location?"

Eyes looked in every direction but the heiress and her father, who was looking distinctly more perturbed by the second. "It's not very - ahem - appropriate to have your people on what _appears_ to be a stakeout with you." He squinted down at a nearby clipboard. "When you could probably just _ask _the poor boy... These are rather basic queries."

One of the male scientists turned his board around for the benefit of the boss and indicated with his pencil what appeared to be some rather crude cartoon doodles of what also appeared to be a spiky-headed Saiyan in various scenes. The page was entitled "Research and Analysis." A trickle of sweat fell down the man's cheek. Dr. Briefs carefully flipped to the page behind it, grimaced, and made a quick survey of the clipboards around him. "Bulma," he said, this time adding some steel to his voice, "This is highly unusual and for all intents and purposes looks like you're taking our workers hostage in order to assuage some strange obsession of yours."

Hearing his tone, Bulma finally lowered the binoculars, blinking owlishly up at her father. "But Daddy," she wheedled, "They have all the medical and general calculations and observations you've made about our monkey Prince since he got here!"

Dr. Briefs ignored her and turned to the group, holding his hands out. "All of the clipboards. Hand them over."

Bulma stood swiftly then, clutching her father's arm. "But DADDY I can't do any research without an unbiased control group to set my own theories against! And these lunkheads-" there was a collective grimace and grumble "-are the only group that has interacted with him on a completely impersonal and scientific level, unlike you and Momma and me!"

The older man shifted his cache in his arms, unruffled. "Bulma, I personally don't see the benefit - much less, the reason - for you conducting - What did you call it? Research? - on our house guest. I'm thinking another word for this is stalking." He looked down his nose at the clipboards. "Have you even asked his permission?"

Bulma turned her head to peer through the hedges to where the Saiyan sat in rather close (and odd) proximity to her mother. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him," she chirruped.

Her father's face screwed up, and he raised a hand to rub the bridge of his nose. "That sort of thinking has led to all sorts of scientific atrocities in the past, Bulma. You know that."

His daughter had already picked her binoculars back up. "Yeah well Vegeta's got the power to kill me in his pinky finger. Inherently I can't do anything that would endanger my own life, so don't worry. It's all good."

Dr. Briefs was growing more irritated by the second. This sort of rabid ferocity about a project was what made the blue-haired scientist a revolutionary of her time (much like himself), but the particular subject was much more dangerous than any reactor she'd dared to tamper with before. And something in the back of his mind blared a warning that this scientific inquiry could be a mask for personal interest in the matter, in which case, he wouldn't leave her on her own. Not a chance. His eyes shifted over to his daughter kneeling in the grass, face stuffed into the bush. She was beautiful in every way, a bright, pealing bell against the darkness that so often invaded their home - and Vegeta was, by his own choice or not, a part of that darkness. He may be rather oblivious, but he had seen the man's eyes slide to Bulma's figure when he knew she wasn't looking. What was more alarming, his gaze didn't linger, but snapped away quickly as though burned. It registered with the old man that Vegeta was trying his best to stay away from them, and specifically her. The doctor's cheeks burned a little as he remembered one particular incident that Bulma remained unaware of.

"You can have Tress," he blurted, interrupting his own thoughts. A tall woman with a bleached pixie cut slumped as her co-scientists high-fived each other. "Everyone else is coming with me."

Bulma looked away from the bushes and glared up at her father. "Fine. Whatever. Just leave the clipboards."

"Of course, dear." He began to turn away and then stopped himself, staring at the audio and visual equipment chugging along in the background. "Ah, Bulma, why do you have those binoculars?" He left out the phrase 'relatively-useless.'

She blinked and looked down at the object in her hands, a sheepish look sliding over her face. "It's more fun this way."

A stifled groan erupted from Tress' mouth and Dr. Briefs nodded, choosing not to respond. Perhaps things were worse than he thought.

* * *

Unaware of the titterings from beyond the hedges, Vegeta had stalked out to the garden patio, where he'd met the vaguely-disconcerting, closed-eye smile of Bunny Briefs. It was the last Saturday of the month, and she had prepared for his company as usual, loading a banquet's worth of food onto the table and pulling out the sun loungers from the pool deck. There she waited, sipping on a watermelon cocktail, hair piled up on her head, and legs stretched out to meet the sun. Her surly house guest had arrived as per usual at ten AM sharp, ready for his massive mid-morning snack. With barely a rustle he sat down on the lounger next to her - not too close as to inspire the idea of friendliness, but not so far as to raise their voices to one another in conversation.

Bunny lay in the sun patiently, enjoying the breeze on her face. She had learned early on that her chatter annoyed the Prince, and to be quite honest, she was pretty sure that even now he merely abided her presence. It had been frustrating at first for the woman, whose hospitality skills were whispered of in hallowed halls, to be so blatantly disliked by the man. For a while it had baffled her, until she got a grasp of the idea that she was dealing with an alien. It was, for the most part, similar to raising a teenager. _Very_ similar. _Eerily_ similar to her experiences with Bulma. So it was the fly to the honey trick all over again.

It was her basic intelligence that actually aided Bunny in being such a good hostess. She registered, more or less, when people did or did not like things. She knew when people did or did not come to events. And though the idea of mathematical equations that her husband and daughter drooled over sent shivers up her spine, Bunny could do a little addition for herself. She realized that Mr. Vegeta appeared when the least amount of people were around. He liked food. He liked the quiet. He did not, perhaps, like her, but Bunny wasn't so sure that he liked anyone and didn't take it to heart.

And most importantly, he liked to be informed. She had caught him on a number of occasions out of the corner of her eye reading the newspaper. He rarely watched the news, as being in the common room would hazard group interaction, but she had even seen him pick up the Capsule Corp newsletters with interest. So, with a burgeoning idea at heart, Bunny had taken to meeting with him on the Saturdays he spent at the compound. The first time, Vegeta had been lured there by the smell of cooked meat and, with a distrustful glare at her, had immediately dug into the feast without a word. Bunny didn't know if he was aware she wouldn't be eating or didn't care. Either way. When he had finished he waited, cocking his head in her direction. He had been greeted by the slurp of her straw against her glass, and when she didn't speak, he had stood, looked her in the face, and nodded with something that she assumed might be an attitude of thanks. She had grinned back at him and then continued to drink, dropping her gaze back to her magazine.

The next time, the incident repeated itself, and on the third try, Mr. Vegeta had done something unprecedented: He ate more slowly, actually sitting with comfort in the patio chair. Bunny's patience had won out. Just as with young Bulma, Vegeta had relaxed under the idea that there were no expectations waiting for him. On the fourth Saturday meeting, the Prince surprised her when he hesitantly opened his mouth to speak, gaze focused somewhere on the horizon. "That new technician you hired for general maintenance of the Machine," he muttered, "He's trustworthy?"

Bunny had jumped at his voice. "Little Totori?" she ventured. "Red hair?" He had nodded in assent. "He's the son of one of my husband's oldest friends. Don't worry, Mr. Vegeta, we wouldn't let someone whom we didn't trust near your training."

The Prince hadn't responded, merely poking at a piece sushi still left on the plate.

Bunny had grabbed at that little chance at conversation though. "I'm not sure if my husband has told you about some of the hiring changes he's made in the last few weeks. Everything is really ramping up here, you know." Again Mr. Vegeta had made no reply, but she took his silence as an assent. Without a hitch she began to relate the recent hiring changes in the company - who was out, who was in, why they were important, etc. Though she couldn't have explained to him _exactly_ what they did with regards to science, she could very well explain the more political nature of things. Again, only in simple terms, but as the wife of the head of Capsule Corp., she knew a thing or two about the Who was Who game.

Eventually her words had petered out, and the Saiyan had unceremoniously left, but two Saturdays later he had appeared again. This time, she had a rather informative magazine in her lap, and in the moment of silence after his meal, she related some of the more pressing planetary issues that were going on. Not that she knew much, but headline summaries seemed to be enough for the man to go off of. And so each Saturday that he deigned to be on the grounds had passed that way, and Bunny couldn't help but be rather self-satisfied in the matter. No one had questioned her about her very short, but very meaningful, moments with Mr. Vegeta. She supposed that, since his visits were irregular, her morning disappearances weren't often enough to warrant curiosity. Now, however...

Bunny looked across the yard, the hubbub behind the shrubberies catching her eye. The Prince, on the other hand, seemed rather unfazed. Perhaps the oddities of their scientists had relaxed his self-preservation in general. As he sat and ate, feet still planted firmly on the ground, Bunny found herself wondering and concerned as to what was going on on the other side of the bushes. What if it scared him away? She had worked so hard to make sure that Mr. Vegeta had at least a few moments with another person, and if they alarmed him, he might never come back. A frown graced her features as she saw the unmistakable lavender mop of hair that belonged to her husband totter off back towards the laboratories, a group of people in white coats close at his heels.

Much better.

She was pretty sure some people were still over there, but by the time the Saiyan had finished eating he had not raised a complaint, so Bunny assumed all was well. Vegeta swung his legs up on the lounger, hands behind his head, and from across the yard Bulma nearly fell over in surprise at his relaxed state. She could have eaten her hand, too, when Bunny began to speak to him in a very familiar way, not looking at him, but merely flipping through a magazine. Bulma turned the volume up on her earpiece and ignored the recording video, instead opting to watch through her grimy binoculars.

"...and his responsibilities with the company have doubled since he bought up a competing company," Bunny was saying, absently turning pages. "Thank God we have Bulma to pick up the slack, but even she has her own things to deal with..." Vegeta remained impassive, and Bunny continued, "I mean, I know you're interested in real news and not the day-to-day things, but between you and me, I'm worried about my little girl. She and Yamcha dated for so long and now that they're over she's thrown herself into her work twice as hard! And with the upgrades to the Gravity Machine and how much she's worried about the earth's future... I just hope she doesn't work herself to the bone. She needs to keep those curves of hers if she wants to be a mommy one day!"

Bulma had nearly fallen over at the mention of her name, but now she wanted to vomit. Vegeta appeared to look a bit more uncomfortable, and stunned her when he replied, "If she is too inundated with tasks then she will not be able to execute even the most simple ones well. Have the red-haired boy replace her for the easy maintenances. Only work on the core requires much intellectual effort," he grunted.

You could have knocked Bulma over with a feather.

Bunny smiled. "I'll let Trunks know he has your permission for that. I'm sure that will be helpful."

Vegeta nodded and they lapsed into silence. Nonetheless, Bunny could tell he was agitated by a thought. Finally, he asked, "What do... what you call... 'curves'... have to do with bearing children?" Vegeta's cheeks reddened.

Bunny pointedly looked away, doing her best not to jump up and down in excitement. "Well, a healthy mommy needs to have extra fat on her to keep the baby fed well. I mean, I guess it could be an old wives' tale, but a woman is supposed to be rounder and simply radiant when she's pregnant. Of course, that all goes away when she gives birth... But that wasn't your question. Anyway..." Bunny trailed off. "Was it the same on your planet?"

A darkness settled on his countenance, but his continued blush gave away his curiosity. "I wouldn't know," he replied, and abruptly stood to leave. He paused, letting her know he acknowledged her, and then left.

Meanwhile, Bulma sank to her knees in the grass, fist stuffed in her mouth to keep her from laughing. Or crying? She felt rather bizarre, to be honest. Behind her, Tress frowned, tapping her pencil against her mouth. She couldn't think of a better waste of her time. "Are you ready to pack up the equipment, Ms. Briefs?"

"What? Yes. Yes. Right. The equipment." Bulma dreamily stood as Tress got to work. "Be sure it's all recorded... I mean damn! How the hell did I not know Momma and Vegeta were something like civil?"

Tress shook her spiky, bleached head. "Is your purpose to gain favor with the Saiyan?"

Bulma shrugged, looking back towards the house. "Yes and no. I mean... Momma suggested I actually try to make the guy's life a little easier... you know, be nice to him and stuff. Hang out with him, I suppose. I just wanted to get some Beta on him before I attempted anything."

"You're aware that love cannot be gained by scientific inquiry."

Bulma gasped and rounded on her fellow scientist. "Now who the hell said anything about that? What are you thinking, Tress? Are you serious? This is a real experiment!"

Tress remained unmoved, her face rather flat as she packed the equipment back up. "I would assume that your father left me here for the purpose that I am your opposite, Ms. Briefs. That being said, your attempts to study him are rather-"

"Nope! Don't want to hear it!" she exclaimed, slapping her hands over her ears. "We are not talking about Vegeta like that, is that understood?"

The taller woman lifted a shoulder. "Fine by me. I'm not attracted to men anyway."

Bulma huffed, crossing her arms and turning on her heel. Good. She didn't need some bimbo salivating over her project.

Tress rolled her eyes behind her.

* * *

Dr. Briefs stroked his cat's head as it purred contentedly against his neck. The circus that had invaded his yard this morning still clawed at his mind like a headache; more importantly, the thing that had been unmentionable to anyone before, including his Bunny, kept popping in his head between projects.

Fingers drifted over the keyboard. There at his fingertips was the moment that his household had changed for him, and he still wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but the audio session that Tress had played for him from earlier today prompted him to worry over it again. That moment where Vegeta questioned Bunny about her comment on childbearing... Trunks grimaced and pulled his glasses from his nose, rubbing his temples. He was not a fool. Most likely Bunny had some very basic ulterior motives.

Sighing, he tapped the screen and pulled up the video feed he'd bookmarked three or so months ago, remembering his first encounter with it. He'd been looking for the very cat on his shoulder, wondering where it had gone when he hadn't seen it for the last few hours, and had scrolled through the security feeds looking for any sign of hide or tail. Instead, he'd found more than he had bargained for. Indeed, the little cat was perched on the top of the couch, tail swinging languidly over the back, but more alarming was the sight of the Saiyan man standing over his daughter's sleeping form. The doctor hesitated now, and then with a trembling finger pushed play again. Twilight fell in the lab as the massive screen illustrated that late afternoon, orange sunset barely filtering the room as night had swept in over Bulma's prone body. She was in their sunroom, bikini-clad and dozing on their small couch that faced the french doors. A few moments passed by and Vegeta entered, presumably on his way outside. The moment he saw her asleep though, he slowed and stopped, ignoring the bright eyes of the cat, and then carefully moved towards her, stalking the shadows. His feet came to rest at hers, toes barely pointed. Her arm had been thrown back on top of her mass of curls, the other laying limp across her stomach.

The hairs on Trunks' neck stood up. He knew Vegeta would stand there, still as stone, for the next five minutes, never twitching, never seeming to breathe. His face was a mask, devoid of both his usual scowl or any other emotion. His eyes would remain trained on Bulma's form, slowly burning their way over every curve and color.

Grimacing, the doctor hit fast-forward until Vegeta moved again. This time the Saiyan slid to her side and crouched by her face, appearing to gaze intently at every crevice of it. Gradually he inched sideways as he peered at her breasts, but seemed just as interested in these as her fingers, which he nearly touched with his nose. Then - and Dr. Brief's stomach dropped - he moved his face over her pelvis and - there was no other way to describe it - inhaled like he was scenting a bouquet, eyes closing in concentration. Vegeta reared back, opening his eyes in a prominent scowl, and then leaned further in, inhaling again, nostrils flaring. The third time he stilled above her, one hand grasping the back of the couch, his head tilted towards her. This went on for a minute, before the little cat perched atop the cushions yawned, startling the attention of the Saiyan. Lazily, the little animal stood and without further ado butted its head against Vegeta's hand. Dr. Briefs watched in fascination as the warrior hesitated, seeming unsure, and then barely lifted his hand to let the cat into his palm. The feline delightedly pressed itself up against the tan fingers offered, and the ghost of a smile flitted across Vegeta's face. Abruptly, the Saiyan looked over at Bulma's face - Trunks could see a sort of indecision rifle across the man's features - and then shifted to stand above her head. One more second of indecision and then his left hand drifted towards her curls. Her father felt his stomach clench.

But he never completed the movement. Vegeta's hand lowered and then he flashed out of sight, with the speed of battle, the doctor assumed. Bulma lay undisturbed and lightly breathing, the purring cat the only indication that someone had been there.

Trunks paused the feed and leaned back in his chair. Since that day he had watched their interactions like a hawk, but nothing seemed out of place. Vegeta perhaps gave her more attention than others, but their interactions were never particularly unwarranted, and they were usually vicious tongue-lashings anyway. Twice Dr. Briefs had seen the Saiyan study his daughter when she wasn't looking, but the boy seemed to be considering more than leering.

Nonetheless, he didn't know what to make of the video. Clearly Vegeta hadn't meant any harm, but also... he shivered. There was something so predatory, so anti-human, so dark about his looming stance over Bulma's sleeping form. Yet that gentleness with the cat... Trunks wondered if perhaps Vegeta was curious about the human body in general. Certainly he would be curious about the female body? Obviously Saiyans could breed with humans. And that question today... The doctor dropped his head in his hands as he considered that Vegeta might be the type of neanderthal that would club a woman over the head and drag her back to his lair. Yes. That seemed plausible. Perhaps he needed to be taught about the human body and... things that go on with it? He shivered again at the prospect of bringing that line of questioning up. It sounded like a death sentence. But if Dr. Briefs was anything, he was a loyal father, and he would do anything to protect his little girl. If Vegeta was simply trying to learn about the ways (and women) of Earth, he would help him get there.

WITHOUT using Bulma as an example.

A/N: R&amp;R!


	3. Agree to Disagree

**Agree to Disagree**

Tress tapped her pencil against the clipboard in a mindless tattoo as her stare settled on the gravity chamber before her. Ms. Briefs - _Bulma, _she amended, remembering the woman's comment about 'seeming too old' - had ordered her to take over the stake-out when she'd been called off to one of the labs to approve a project. Mr. Vegeta had been inside for the last three hours, and by now Bulma had most likely forgotten her purpose for the day and was probably knee-deep in fixing something that no one else could puzzle out. Tress, however, was a woman of keen senses, and while she may not have the dreamer's intellect that belonged to the blue-haired heiress, she most definitely had a much better grasp on reality.

Like the one before her.

Tress' back straightened to attention as the machine powered down, and she glanced over at the basket of snacks she'd prepared for this very moment. It was now or never, and Tress had no intention of wasting her time following this bizarre man around when she could be in the lab looking over Dr. Brief's shoulder.

As he stepped over the threshold of the machine, Tress calmly raised a hand in greeting.

Vegeta's eyes never betrayed his surprise at seeing one of the peasants from the laboratories here on the house grounds. It was like seeing Piccolo with red skin or that third-class Saiyan without a damnable grin on his face. Nonetheless, his gait didn't slow as he approached the woman, her short, spiky blonde hair catching the light of the afternoon.

"Mr. Vegeta," she greeted politely, holding up her haul for inspection.

"_Prince_ Vegeta, to you," he snarled, though one brow winged upwards at the strange collection of cheeses, meats, and breads gathered in the massive basket.

"Of course," she replied without a change of face. "My name is Tress. I have brought what you might consider a light snack with the appropriate caloric exchange for the workout you've completed, with specific attention to protein intake." She raised the basket a bit higher, as though he hadn't seen its contents. "Mrs. Briefs informed me you prefer to have a small meal after your gravity room sessions. I would appreciate it very much if you would allow me to have a few moments of your time as you eat, your Highness."

Vegeta's other brow nearly flew up as well in surprise at the woman's respect. Most of the peons cowered in corners, skittered by him, or didn't address him properly at all. "Why?" he grunted, eyes narrowing as he tried to feel out her ki. It didn't seem particularly ruffled, so she didn't seem to be lying or in great distress, but women were tricky here on this particular mudball…

Her face made no change from its blank state. "I have an offer I think you would like to hear. And by our few interactions, I know you prefer to be sated with food. Inside or outside?"

Vegeta's head barely tilted to the side as he considered her - before a growl ripped through his stomach. He bared his teeth in mild embarrassment, but the lab rat seemed to either not have heard it or ignored it. Either way, it settled it. "Fine. Over by the tree," he growled, snatching the basket from her hands as he stalked that way.

Tress nearly sighed with relief, sweat pooling at the base of her spine despite the cool breeze. It wasn't every day that she got to talk to a truculent alien.

He had already settled against the tree trunk by the time she caught up and sat down cross-legged a few feet from him. Ignoring the woman, Vegeta tore into the basket with a fury, briefly reading the labels of packages before ripping into them. Tress noted with interest that he was neither delicate nor animalistic in his eating, rather faster and more vociferous than the average human. She scribbled a note down quickly, but within seconds she felt a hot glare on her.

Tress's eyes met the Saiyan's whose attention had been immediately drawn to the clipboard. His silence said volumes. Gingerly she turned the board around to face him and cleared her throat. "This, sir, is what I came to discuss."

Vegeta, who's hand had stilled halfway to his mouth when he'd seen her writing, shoved the cheese between his teeth and grabbed the clipboard. He could make out the gist of what it said - vague notes about him and his schedule and training. "The _fuck_," he swore after swallowing, and Tress didn't waste any time.

"I am not an idiot," she said, catching the board as he tossed it at her face. "At this point I am disobeying my boss - perhaps not _directly_ \- but nonetheless putting my job in danger for your benefit and mine. I think you and I have mutual interests in working together on this."

"On what, exactly?" he asked, voice low and venomous.

"I can't be 100 percent sure, sir, but in general, I have been assigned to follow you and document your general schedule and habits."

"WHAT?" he bellowed, and Tress held up a hand in both supplication and warning.

"Rest assured, any useful information will go straight to your training research files and assimilated appropriately so that we can document the healthiness of both your regimen, your rest periods, your nutrition, and your mental well-being, all of which - you know of course - directly affect your training efficacy."

The prince snorted, both miffed and pleased that she understood that concept.

"That being said," she continued, gesturing to the basket to remind him to eat, "I would rather not skulk after you like a weasel in the dark, wasting both your time and mine, when I could meet with you for a few moments each day and get the material straight from you."

Vegeta, however, was not taking the bait. "How the fuck do I know you're not just working me over for some other reason? Why the hell should I give you my private information?"

Tress tilted her head in confusion. "What other reason would there be?"

Vegeta's face darkened. "I have many enemies. That should be enough of a reason."

"Ah. But I'm a human, and as far as I know, you don't have enemies of that kind."

His teeth flashed in the sun. "My enemies live throughout the universe, fool woman. You expect me to believe some haven't come here?"

Shrugging a shoulder, she replied, "Perhaps not, but you are the only alien I have ever come across, sir, and to be frank with you, I would never waste the opportunity to learn about you in favor of someone else's interests." Vegeta's spine stiffened. They were in uncomfortable territory. "Plus," she continued, "Bulma is my only employer. I do as she requests because this is the most advanced technological company on Earth and I love my job."

"Except this?" he rebutted, finally grabbing a hunk of meat to toss down his throat.

"Capsule Corp employees understand that much has to be done in the name of science, but I refuse to compromise my morals for something that could so easily be done with your permission, Prince Vegeta."

The Saiyan harrumphed as he perused the pile, using the moment to analyze the situation. Finally, he muttered, "So you have no intentions of stalking me for sexual purposes?" with beet-red ears.

"Certainly not mine," she immediately replied, before realizing the mistake as his head shot up and his eyes met hers. "That is -" she stammered uncharacteristically, "I am only interested in women."

At this Vegeta stared blankly at her, face blanching. "…What?"

Now it was Tress' turn to blush slightly. His clear confusion was totally unexpected. "I'm queer. A lesbian."

There was silence between them momentarily before his eyes darted to the side and then back to her heart-shaped face. "You… do not procreate with men."

Her lips twitched. "I do not have sex with men, if that's what you're asking."

This time his silence was longer before he asked in a soft, rasping voice, "What is the point of that?"

Tress cocked her head to the side. "The point? In being interested in women? I mean I assume you know some of those answers - "

"Yes yes yes, I know why _males_ find females attractive, but what good does it do for you?" The Saiyan was no stranger to the vast array of sexual orientations of the universe, but this particular mud ball had the most Saiyan-like creatures he'd ever seen. Hell, they could interbreed. But conversely, these were the single-most worst females he had ever encountered. He couldn't imagine putting up with them for any reason other than reproduction.

"I am not sure what your race would call it, but here on Earth we value love over physical relationships. Although," she added with a thoughtful look, "Our sex lives are every bit as fulfilling."

Vegetal rolled his eyes. Of course. _Love_ would trump breeding on this back-assed planet any day. Nonetheless, something bothered him. "But… how does one find 'fulfillment' without the opposite sex?"

She definitely felt out of her league now. As she opened her mouth to answer, suddenly one of his hands swatted at the air as though there were flies. "Nevermind, nevermind, I don't fucking care - my GOD how does your weak species even stay alive with half of its members running off with each other…"

"Half is a little too generous of an amount."

"Whatever, fuck it, I don't care," he grumbled, rubbing his temples. Tress had to strain her ear to hear his further muttering about the uselessness of earthlings.

"So, now that we're clear on motives," she stressed, "I should say that under no circumstances should you let on to Bulma that we have an agreement." She thought for a moment as he inhaled the next item, seemingly ignorant to her commentary. "I will be informing Dr. Briefs, as he - I believe - will be on my side about this."

Vegeta's eyes slid to hers again. "Why does the woman care?"

Tress was ready this time. "She thinks we will gain a much more accurate assessment of your daily life by observing than by questioning. And technically, might I add, she would be right. I will continue to make my own observations and notes aside from that which you give me, sir, but aside from our conversations I would much prefer to be in the lab."

"Hn," he mused as he picked at something sweet. The idea of getting away with something under that harpy's nose was pleasing, and this woman - he thought with an askew glance at Tress, who seemed to be taking the moment to furiously scratch at her pad again - was not altogether unpleasing. The idea of an ally who could masquerade as a 'normal' female but without their nefarious and malicious intents was tempting. Plus, she had all the necessary respect for him that he was owed. And most importantly, she didn't seem inclined to talk too much.

Tress had just finished up a thought about the alien's ignorance of Earth's various relationship dynamics when he looked up at her, narrowing one eye in thought. She briefly wondered if he thought of _her_ like an alien when he said, "Alright. We have an agreement."

Her soft smile brightened what had been a rather heretofore expressionless face. "Wonderful. How about I meet you around this time each afternoon and you give me a rundown of your previous day? It would probably help if you gave me the vaguest estimate of how you'll spend the rest of your day as well."

Vegeta frowned. "I am not always here each day, and I do not generally train for the same time period either."

"Well then, how about this?" Tress replied as she dug through a long pocket of her lab coat to retrieve a tiny silver rectangle with a clip on it. She tossed it to him and he deftly snatched it out of the air. "It's what we call a pager, and usually these connect boss to employee here but I think it can be used for your advantage too. Just click that upper button and it will send a message to mine to meet with you." Vegetal raised a brow again, and she shrugged. "I pre-programmed this one to mine ahead of time. I came prepared."

He nearly smirked. This woman would be a decent ally, he supposed, for a weakling human.

* * *

_Finally_ she'd finished correcting that dumb-ass mistake her assistant had made, and Bulma found herself shrugging off her lab coat as she trudged through the back door of her home. She wondered vaguely if it was odd to be so vastly rich and yet living with her parents, but the thought passed as she saw her father's coat hanging up by the door as though waiting to meet hers. There were about ten people on the entire planet who could make her feel normal, and only a handful who had experienced the insane things she had. That thought was catapulted further as she saw a pair of Vegeta's muddy training shoes in the corner by the door. Her eyes widened. Was that how he felt too? No one to commiserate with or share those bizarre feelings that arise from confrontation with the other-worldly?

Bulma blinked for a second. "Nahhhh," she giggled aloud, tossing her coat up on the hook. Vegeta didn't care enough for emotions like that. Which reminded her.

"Momma!" she hollered, trailing through the halls when she heard a distant answer. _Must be in the greenhouse_, she thought.

And there she was indeed, bent over and carefully pruning some bright tropical plants. Bulma smiled against her better judgement. It was sometimes just so _nice_ to be around someone who got pleasure from the simple things in life. She supposed that's why her father had married Bunny. …Aside from her still-rockin good looks.

"How's the plant life?" she asked, plopping herself down on the brick ledge next to Bunny.

"Oh just wonderful. My ladies and I are in full-bloom!"

"I'll say."

There was a moment of wordlessness as her mother continued blissfully pruning. Burma cleared her throat. "So. You and Vegeta."

Bunny's mouth curled. "Yes?"

"Why did you not tell me?" Bulma burst out with a giggle.

"You never asked!" her mother chirped, resiliently plowing on in her work.

"Why would I think to ask you? Especially after that conversation we had!"

"And why do you think we had that conversation in the first place?"

Bulma's smile faltered. "What… you planned to have that conversation with me?"

Bunny sighed happily as she replied "Sure, honey. I've been worried about that poor boy and I think a lot of him. It's been nice to see him and catch up with him on my own, but I'm aware that he mostly tolerates me." Her gaze caught Bulma's as her smile widened. "And that's fine. There are other people that he can enjoy, I'm sure, but for now he at least deserves a little company now and then... But you and your minions will NOT interrupt our meal time again!"

Bulma blinked in surprise. "I wasn't - we didn't bother him," she replied sheepishly, shrinking her shoulders inwards as she twiddled her fingers.

"You could have," Bunny snorted, clipping a plant with extra force. "So don't do that again. If you want to get to know him then try talking to him some time."

"Oh don't worry," her daughter said with a slow, creeping smile. "I'm getting to know him just fine."

Bunny glanced over with a furrowed brow and frowned. "Oh, darling," she sighed, cupping her daughter's cheek with a hand covered in potting soil, "I'm just not seeing how you're going to get married if you keep being strange like that."

"Hey!" Bulma yelped as she brushed her hand away along with the dirt. "Don't be rude!"

With a rather unconcerned shrug, her mother continued to the next plant as Bulma finally muttered "So how long have you two been meeting up?"

Shooting her daughter a sly look, Bunny replied, "A handful of weeks. And no, I will not tell you what we talk about. That is _our_ business and our business alone."

Bulma glowered. "Well you seemed just fine bringing ME up in conversation today."

At this Bunny smiled brightly again. "You are the light of my life, sweetie. Why would I not talk to my friends about you?"

"Because Vegeta is your friend the same way that frogs are my friends."

"Now who's the one being rude?"

Bulma's tongue stuck out. "Well stop talking about me. It's weird."

"Only because you're afraid of the boy."

This time Bulma gaped at her mother. "Afraid? I am not afraid of him!"

"Not like that," Bunny chuckled, "But the way that girls and boys are afraid of one another? Sure."

"That's completely - that's totally untrue!" the blue-haired woman gasped as she jumped to her feet.

"Whatever lets you sleep at night."

"Well you know what?" Bulma said with a sneer, "Knowing that an intergalactic killer sleeps down the hall doesn't help much in that department!"

Bunny rolled her eyes and flipped her hand. "Oh phooey. I know you're just fine with that. You invited him here anyway. Stop making such a fuss."

"I don't have to listen to this," Bulma pouted, knowing defeat when she saw it.

"No, you sure don't," Bunny replied blandly, returning to her plant. "Dinner is in an hour and I'll see you then-" she cut her eyes over to her daughter - "_After_ you've cleaned up a bit. You have dirt on your face, you know."

Bulma couldn't even come up with a reply that didn't contain something unsuitable for a daughter to say to her mother, and with that, the heiress jumped to her feet and spewed curses under her breath as she stalked away.

With a snap of the clippers, the head of a flower tumbled to the ground, and Bunny smiled cheerily.

A/N: R&amp;R!


	4. Experiments

Experiments

"Helloooooooo," called Dr. Briefs with a rickety wave of his arm. Vegeta stopped mid-step, towel slung over one shoulder, and glowered beneath his brows at the approaching man. There was an awkward pause as he reached the Saiyan, and when the older man saw he would not be returned a greeting, he coughed to stifle a nervous laugh. "I thought you might be interested in some lab work we're running today. You generally take Sunday afternoons off, yes?"

"Hn." Vegeta's stance widened.

"Er- right," the Doctor stammered, jerking a finger into his collar. "I've been thinking about that regeneration tank you're so fond of, and it's rather like a… a return to the womb, as it were - from the way you describe it."

Vegeta made no comment.

"A womb."

The Saiyan raised a brow in annoyance.

"You see, son, a womb is - "

"What the hell do you want?" Vegeta snarled as he began to walk towards the house, and Dr. Briefs scurried after him on his stumpy legs.

"I thought you might like to see some of the schematics I'm creating, and the test subject we're working with!"

Vegeta did pause, glancing to the older man. "That sounds… amenable." Sweat trickled down the doctor's face as a grin bloomed across his lips. Vegetal moved on, calling over his shoulder, "Half an hour, old man."

And so Dr. Briefs anxiously waited in the lab room with Mrs. Van Dyne, who rubbed the swell of her stomach gently and cooed at her unborn son while the doctor readied the full-body scanner. The moment the Saiyan entered the room he froze, unaccustomed to strangers in small spaces, but even less accustomed to strange Earth-women, and completely unknown to the territory of human pregnancy. He sent a panicked glance to the doctor.

"Ah, ahem, yes, this is Mrs. Van Dyne, and she has so graciously offered to let us do a full body scan of her for our research."

"Will she pop?" he blurted out, his raspy voice higher pitched than usual.

The woman laughed good-naturedly, and then abruptly stopped with a little O-shaped mouth. "Oh sorry, I get worried I might - you now - when I laugh too hard. He's sitting on my bladder pretty hard."

Vegeta made an audible retch and stepped back, one arm out to protect himself from the sight of this bizarre creature, but Dr. Briefs snapped the dapper shut behind him. "All perfectly normal, I assure you, my boy."

"I don't - what is - normal?" Vegeta gaped at the woman's swollen stomach, and she eyed him with a motherly sympathy.

"Don't worry, I work here at CC too. I know who you are, and I'm happy to let you in on a few earthly things," she said with a wink of a twinkling eye. "I'm about eight months along so I get questions from children allllllllllll the time."

He jerked his head towards the older man. "I am no CHILD," he hissed, shoulders tensing.

Dr. Briefs coughed. "Of course not, of course not, it's just that I thought you might like to see how - er - _things_ \- work here -"

"I DON'T WANT TO LOOK AT THIS DISGUSTING COW!" he bellowed, cheeks burning red as he wrenched the door off its hinges. Mrs. Van Dyne gasped, and Dr. Briefs urgently patted her hand while he called after the Saiyan, but Vegeta was gone within seconds.

"Well," he harrumphed in the following silence, "….that could have gone better."

By this point Vegeta was storming into the GR with a vengeance, annoyed at the world - annoyed at himself for being abysmally undeducated in the ways of the humans - annoyed at his curiosity - annoyed at the questions that kept popping up in his mind. He threw himself into a workout. Was that how Kakarrot's female looked carrying his child? Where did the child come out? Did Saiyans come out of the same places as humans? Obviously humans had the same parts as Saiyans - or did they? He couldn't remember Saiyan women particularly well. They wore armor like their counterparts. Did they have … breasts? What even were breasts for?

"Why - the - FUCK -" he yelled with strangled voice. These were questions he had kept at bay. There was no real reason for him to ask them.

Except.

That little voice in the back of his head that said _The fool already has offspring. You are the Prince of your dead race. How can you let this be so?_

Vegeta snarled at himself and pushed harder. There was nothing he could do about it.

_There's definitely something you can do about it._

Ki crackled across his arms as he thought of the blue-haired woman, the memory of her scent, so foreign yet so powerful. He wondered if that's what had happened to Kakarrot. Had he wandered across that human in the woods and been bewitched by her scent? His nose wrinkled as he thought about it. He couldn't find the attraction in that one. She was… plain.

The Woman, as he referred to her, keeping her at arm's length even in his mind, was not plain. She was bright and… loud. Her screech could literally make his head ache. But he had heard her at other times speaking normally, and on occasion, softly, when he dozed in the common area and she passed by. He was not a fool - he found her diverting. She snatched his concentration away. But he wasn't interested in being near her, simply on the outside. Watching. She was not Like, but Other.

Suddenly he imagined that woman's stomach, but on the blue-haired girl. She was so tiny - she would fall over if she had that weight on her. Surely something like a Saiyan offspring would be the death of her.

But Vegeta felt his groin tighten as he imagined the ki that would emanate from her if she carried his son. Not like that cow in the lab. What had her mother said? She would… glow.

And suddenly he was mortified. He didn't want that track of thought running through his head. He had barely spoken ten sentences to her in the last month as it was, and none of them were particularly nice. _You don't like failure_… He had no idea what she considered him, past being a lab subject. She had called him something like 'cute' in the past, but it was always accompanied with a laugh. Laughter was a tool of derision where he came from, but these people used it differently. It made him feel completely stupid, out of the loop… _Other_, his inner voice mocked.

It was a week before he made any significant trips outside of the GR. The blonde woman brought him food and he slept in cat-like shifts until he could barely lift a finger. The scientist Tress had come by each night to record his schedule and take his vitals, but he had made no effort to see the face of either Briefs scientist. He couldn't bring himself to it. But by Friday, he was in serious need of rest and recuperation.

Bulma had, to the best of her abilities, kept away from the Saiyan and hoarded the information tress brought her with glee, and then in turn, wariness. He seemed to be in a rapid decline, and by Friday she found herself peeking into the GR to see his lithe form barely swinging above the floor. He was down to one bot, but it seemed to be giving him hell. It took her another thirty seconds of watching until her wariness turned into alarm. Swiftly she knocked open the emergency stop panel and shut the GR down from outside, the door gliding open as the alarm blared. She realized her heart was hammering and her blood singing through her ears as he appeared before her. _Stop freaking out, you idiot!_

Vegeta was on one knee, an elbow resting on his other as he glared up at her with bared teeth. "How - " he gasped, chest heaving as sweat glimmered across his skin, "How _dare_ you interrupt my training?"

Bulma peered into the darkness around him at the broken bots. "Nah, I think you were just about done, buddy," she quipped, and blasé smile covering for her discomfort.

He stood with great effort and cursed under his breath as his legs shook. He hoped she wouldn't notice. Her was the LAST face he wanted to see - she'd been plaguing him for days now.

But she had noticed, and she cocked her head to eye his condition. "Let's head to the med wing, shall we? I'd like to monitor your vitals."

"Fuck you," he breathed, a stitch catching in his breath as he limped down the ramp to the main house.

Bulma, nonplussed, spun on her heel and followed. "Okay. So you're gonna shower first?"

He made no comment, and continued on as though alone. Bulma smiled. "Oh. Do you need help showering? I'll lend a hand but you'll owe me."

His neck shot around with a strangled snarl and she laughed. "Just kidding, geez. But I'm coming up there after with my equipment so get ready."

Bulma could hear him cursing her in a different tongue and she laughed again. Distantly, through his fatigue, he identified it as a tinkling noise, sharp but sweet, and he hated himself for liking it.

She turned away inside the house and he was left to his own devices, but she hadn't been kidding. He had just stepped into a pair of sweatpants when a knock came at his door. He ignored it, throwing himself onto his bed. Hunger gnawed at his stomach but he couldn't decide…

"HELLO?" she yelled as she entered, one hand covering her eyes. "I said are you decent?"

Irritated, Vegeta vaguely considered the question. "At what?"

"Ugh. Are you naked?"

He blushed. "No, you idiot. Leave me alone!"

Her smile was bright as she opened her eyes and looked him over. Immediately he tensed. Something was not right. Vegetal sat up, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Don't give me that look," she chirped as she threw her bag down on his side table, "I'm just here to take your vitals, not slit your throat. And yes, I know you'd kill me first if I tried, blah blah blah…" She unloaded her tools and sat on the bed next to his hip. He nearly jumped off the bed. "Whoa!" she laughed, throwing her hands up in a gesture of conciliation, "Chill out! I just need to put these electrodes on you!"

A blush had begun to creep over his cheeks. He knew what she was doing, it just… unnerved him. "Where is your father? Why isn't he doing this? Or one of his lackeys?"

Bulma was rummaging through her bag. "Well in the first place, he owns a multi-billion dollar company and shouldn't have to wait on you hand and foot. And secondly, you scare people. And thirdly, you've been holed up in that GR for a week and I'm afraid you'll try to kill someone or something with that temper of yours." Vegeta felt his mouth go dry as she turned to him, bright blue eyes glimmering in the fading light from the window. He was so tired, and she smelled so sweet… Her gaze held concern. "I've got a maid bot coming up here with food in a minute. You look half dead Vegeta."

"This is nothing," he murmured, closing his eyes for a moment as the smell of battle and rotting corpse assailed his nose from memory. And truly, he was simply exhausted. Not even terribly wounded.

Bulma hoped he couldn't hear her pulse. Could he? Maybe. It was racing as she pulled the back off of an electrode. "Would you… lie back?" she asked, her voice cracking on the last note. There was a moment of hesitation before he acquiesced, head hitting the pillow with an audible thump of consternation.

Now was the moment. It wasn't necessary, but - she had never really touched him. Bulma reached out and placed one hand on his chest as though steadying herself. He was so _warm_. Firm. Her hand splayed out, reaching, for the tiniest second - and he knew. His eyes snapped open to bore into hers. That one movement betrayed her, and her eyes told him so. They widened, and the smile on her face faltered at his glance. She wasn't sure what to say, so instead she pretended, and grabbed the electrode, slapping it onto his chest next to her hand.

Vegeta's mind raced with questions as she went to work. He knew people. It was his gift. It kept him alive. He was very sure that she had wanted to feel him. He watched her with a masked face as she hooked up the machine. She had taken that chance to touch his skin, the way that he had so badly wanted to feel her hair many times before, but he didn't know what to make of that - didn't know what to make of her interest in him. He was sure she knew that _he_ knew. Did that make some sort of truce? Did that mean he got one free touch on her as well?

As Bulma silently made notes, he considered. What would he touch? She had lots of things he wanted to touch, but hers, on the other hand, had been a basic one. So, perhaps, her skin as well. An even trade of curiosity. His eyes drifted down to her creamy thighs barely resting at his hip. He brought his hand up to scratch at an electrode and then, pulse thumping in his ears, let it fall short, his elbow hanging off the bed so that his hand drifted next to her thigh. Bulma's breath barely hitched as she felt the contact, her eyes blinking rapidly, and she paused mid-pen stroke. He could not bring himself to openly touch her with his fingertips, even though he ached to do so, but he concentrated all his thoughts upon the back of his hand that rested against her leg. She was a few degrees cooler than he, and the barest movement of his hand told him she was soft - so soft.

Bulma rapidly began writing again, determined to ignore the disturbance. Anxious butterflies erupted in her stomach as she ran the moment over in her head. His hand still burned against her skin, and she marveled that his barest touch felt more intimate than anything she and Yamacha had ever shared. But why wouldn't it? They were like children who had never seen the opposite sex, but… different. Right?

The monitor beeped and Bulma jumped up, glancing down at him. Face impassive, he stared back, and her mouth opened to say something - but she was interrupted by the arrival of the maid bot. Without a word she gathered her supplies and then, with only a moment's hesitation, leaned over and ripped the electrodes off of his chest. He snarled in annoyance, and she flashed him one of her signature bright smiles. "Well, see you tomorrow!" she said loudly, and she only tripped over herself once as she dashed out the door.

Vegeta stared after her, hand pressed against the spot she had occupied, feeling its warmth.


End file.
